Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stoned
by PermanentImpact
Summary: An alternate, darker and look at Parry Potter, weird inside, Rated T for character death and gore.
1. Meet the hero

**INTRODUCTION**

_-There is no theory of evolution, just a list of creatures Chuck Norris allows to live._

_Common Sense, Never land, 2872_

Harry was waking up slowly. His skull was aching, as if smashed with a war hammer.

All he remembered was that yesterday he took a few beers before leaving his place at Dursley's for a walk.

Suddenly, the memory of yesterday's horrible events started to invade his alcohol-spared brain cells: he remembered a broken bottle in his hand, some woman screaming, washing somebody's blood off his clothes in a nearby sewer pit, and some kind of horrible creature with a scalping knife in its hand looking at him from a mirror.

He groaned, burped and opened his eyes. Outside, the city was awaking from last night's unquiet slumber.

He knew he had no choice now but to face another unpleasant day in his "room under stairs" as he named his residence. In fact, when Harry was only seven, he already have bought his first gun, and forced the entire Dursley family to move under the stairway, leaving the rest of house to himself and his "friends". Once beautiful home became a bandit nest in a matter of days. Criminal scum from the whole city had soon elected the "Room under stairs" as its headquarters.

He slammed his scarred fist on a nearby closet, breaking it in two.

-"I want my tequila!"

He shouted.

Soon he heard hurrying footsteps from downstairs, and before him came Dudley. A boy of Potter's age, Dudley still retained his childish look. His pale face was still covered in soft white skin, in contrast to thick red fur covering Harry's forehead and face. His stature looked frail compared to Harry's bulging muscles and wide barrel-like chest.

Seeing Harry, Dudley fell to his knees, petrified. In his outstretched, trembling hands, he was holding a bottle of tequila.

-"Thank you!"

Said Harry politely, before breaking off bottle's neck by smacking it across Dudley's scull, making him fall through the floor.

After Harry emptied the bottle in one gulp, he finally remembered the most important yesterday's event: He became a wizard.

Concerning Wizards.

Wizards are small humanoid-resembling creatures with short, fat and hairy legs...

Opps, a little mistake from my part.

Dear reader, if you were looking for a story with happy endings, fluffy hobbits and homoerotic elves, as well as large medieval castles and Confu-fighting, hash-smoking old men, than you have chose a wrong story. This story is about Harry Potter, man also known as "Uncle Eyeball" and "Gory Joe" among his enemies.

This particular story never had a happy beginning, and will never have a happy ending, because it can not.

Anyways, wizards are pretty much your every day hobos, but with magic powers. Their powers are greatly increased by the use of semi-automatic guns, shivs and unrighteous fighting techniques. They are greatly dependent on hash or LSD, as they believe these substances, or "potions" give them "buffs", making them stronger; if in a normal human, drugs cause only hallucination, when consumed by a wizard, the hallucinations seen by the individual are applied to reality, t.e. the stuff actually happens in real life. There are no famous wizards, except for Michael Jackson, who abandoned the dark art for love (He certainly did prove that).

Wizard abilities are transferred genetically, just like Down's syndrome and kleptomania. Heck, Potter's mom and dad were wizards.

Once I had a chance to speak to one of Potter's henchman, and he said Harry never knew his parents. However, I have managed to collect some information on the couple.

Potter's mom and dad were children of two bosses from two major drug-dealing mobs that were rivalling over the right to control London. Naturally, when a girl (Lily Evans) was born in one family, and a boy (James Potter) in the other, marriage was decided to be the remedy which would end the bloody mob war that wrecked the city for more than a century. When both children became "of age" (by medieval standards, a.k.a. 14 years old) they were married by their parents. They hated each other from the moment they were presented, and it is a miracle both of them survived through the marriage ceremony; newer the less, a greater mystery is how those two had a child together. Who was that child?

You guessed it - it is a mystery.

Harry did not have any memory of his parents, not that he really cared, although he remembered clinging to his mother's tail when she was running away from a jaguar through the tree tops. For some reason, this memory mystified him, particularly when he would visit his friends at the local zoo.

He gave the world outside a lazy glance, and scratched his butt with his left hind arm. The world was waiting for him, and he did not like to make others wait.


	2. A place without a name

Chapter I

A place without a name

Harry did not like the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia always tried to feed him with organic food and teach him "addishoon" and "subtracshoon", so he can enter "school". Harry's image of school was very unclear – to him, it was a basement where he could sell drugs to minors.

Harry did not like uncle Vernon either, because Vernon was Christian and believed that Harry should stop killing others for personal pleasure. Harry did not like Dudley because Dudley knew how to subtract and multiply. However, Harry's inquisitive mind came up with a solution. In the effort to renounce violence and killing the Dursley family with his bare hands, he decided to grant them a slow and painful death by starvation. For this purpose, he rented an old motor boat from the local company, the manager accepted to sell Harry a boat for zero dollars, after Harry nailed him to the ceiling by his hands.

However, there were still some unavoidable expenses, as the boat used gasoline.

Harry understood that it was time to show his generous side, so he sold Dursley's few remaining clothes, Uncle Vernon's golden teeth, Petunia's hair and Dudley's kidneys.

When everything was prepared, he threw the shaking family into the boat, and started the motor. As he looked at his foster family, shaking from piercing, chilly winds, looking at him with frightened, hungry eyes, clinging to one another for some warmth, he felt pity.

-"Damn, it's a pity I'm out of ammo." Harry thought, gently caressing his cal. 50 Magnum under his overcoat.

After five hours of searching for a suitable deserted island, Harry found a perfect one – it was an old, dark reef, barely visible amongst the towering waves, on very top of it, a small shack, devastated by winds and time, clang desperately to the stone beneath it.

As the boat closed in, lightning shattered the sky in two, revealing to Dursleys their fate.

After all the horrors that they have endured, they could not even cry. They just whimpered and clang to one another, desperate for some comfort.

Harry threw at them a concerned look– he was wondering if no other profit could be made off Dursleys before he dispatched them. Convinced that in their present state they were as useful to him as a decomposing sewer rat would be, he directed the boat towards the reef.

As the boat hit the shore, which was a dark stone, long devoid of life and happiness, Harry piled the few things he allowed his foster family to take inside a small wheelbarrow and went to show Dursleys to their new home.

It was unclear who had belt the shack here, and for what purpose, although, many theories and urban legends were associated with it. Some say that it was belt by Nazis during the world war two, and was used as an interrogation chamber for those few unfortunate who were abducted by German submarine shock troops during the night, some said that it was much older, that in times when America was being colonised, missionaries would use it to practice exorcism on those possessed by Mayan gods, and some said that the shack is a ghost house, that would flip in and out from another dimension.

Harry knew the rumours, what he did not know, however, was that all of them were true.


	3. Hope put to a test

Chapter II

Hope put to a test

They walked in silence, between the waves of raging ocean and ghostly light of the moon, occasionally, a short scream was heard when Harry encouraged another member of his foster family to advance by applying the butt of his gun to their skull.

They were ascending; the dark stone of the reef towered before them, its hold to the ocean floor weakened by merciless northern winds. Among miles of bare water, rising desperately from the frozen abyss, this broken giant looked like a product of a disturbed mind invading a child's dream.

Harry liked this place; it was his refuge from cruelty and misunderstanding of the outside world during his emo years and a good place to loose a cadaver or two. He would often come here to think, resting among dark rocks of the reef, his young, inquisitive mind wondering away, developing new, efficient torture techniques, or plans to take over the world.

His large sweaty lips curved in what was supposed to be a smile. They were standing in front of the shack.

It had two storeys and was definitively made out of wood, but the time removed any clues which could be used to determine what kind. The material was covered with a thick layer of dried salt accumulated from many years, or perhaps centuries of standing among the waves. All around it were remains of a fence covered in rusty barbed wire. A twisted iron cross was perking from the top.

The doors and windows were absent, torn away by the rage of storms. The only known inhabitant was the northern wind, howling in abandoned furnace pipes.

-"Welcome!" said Harry heartily.

-"Oh, and Dudley, dear brother… Happy birthday!" he said as he watched his step brother raising his eyes.

-"I have a gift for you, here you go boy." He continued, and with these words he handed his step-brother a plastic butter-knife.

"That is so when you get hungry, you can kill your parents and eat to your heart's content!"

Harry explained joyfully.

Deep inside himself, Harry knew that he was being too generous. But as he watched people around him, their daily problems, their wins and their losses, he just could not stop himself from helping them. Verily, his heart was too big for this world.

_Senses…_

Things that Harry could not understand, but could rely upon. Like all people who led a dangerous way of life, he had a good sense of hazard and now, this sense was pounding his scull, readying his body for the battle to come. For amidst the crushing of thunder and the endless charge of waves against the reef, his large, sensitive toes located different vibrations – steps. Those steps were too abrupt and slow to belong to any member of the Dursley family and way too heavy to be his. Amidst the blast of smells inhabiting the reef, he smelled another smell; an unnatural, unbearable aroma of decease and putrefaction. Finally, amidst the incredible cacophony produced by the troubled sea, his large, concave ears had distinguished an unusual sound – breathing. Large masses of fresh air were loudly drawn in a wide cavity and out came the gas bearing the thick stench of the sewer.

They were not alone on this rock, not anymore. When a fight was unavoidable, Harry knew that the only thing that mattered was to survive, and what did not matter were the means used. He usually relied on the "middle-man" technique, which meant using a weaker person as a meat-shield. With his right hand, Harry drew and cocked his gun. With his left hand, Harry grabbed uncle Vernon by the neck and pushed him in front of himself, ignoring horrified screams of Aunt Petunia and her son. Something was inside the shack before them. It was something which was never meant to walk, never meant to breathe and never meant to live. The steps were louder now, whatever it was, it was gaining speed, advancing relentlessly, crushing all in its way with a hungry, cadaverous determination. Harry awaited his enemy; his cold resolve had banished fear and anxiety, leaving place for determination. He stood alone on top of the reef, his tall black figure drawn in flashes of lighting on the canvas of the obliterating waves of icy rain; soaring like a black battle-banner amidst the chaos surrounding them, his over-coat was barely covering his steel muscles. Every inch of him was aching for action, to crash, to tear, to drown the enemy in their own blood.

He aimed right at the entrance, slightly higher than where a normal human head would appear, for he sensed that his opponent was more, or less than a mere man. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, allowing his primal senses to lead his attack. Slowly, he exhaled and firmly squeezed the trigger.

A loud click awoke him from his combat meditation, as a bucket of cold water that kills our slumber and draws our senses in rage.

The gun was empty.

Without its deadly cargo, it was a silvery piece of metal, a wonderfully useless thing.

In such moments, Harry learned to rely on fate. He threw down the gun and took a defensive stand. Come what will be.


End file.
